Precious
by RavingBabbit
Summary: I didn't think my life would be over so quickly


**Precious**

* * *

I didn't think my life would be over this quickly, but after struggling against the ever-tightening knots of the twine that bound me, my body called it quits.

Whoever they were, they had to have been old pro's, from how quickly they grocery-bagged my head and cinched my arms behind me. I didn't see their faces or the license plate number when they flipped me into the trunk. I could hear them as they shut the doors of their car one by one. They didn't peel out of the grocer's parking lot and they probably caught every red light going down the main street and obeyed every stop sign on the isolated local roads, inching their way to my horrible demise.

At first, I was extremely irritated. I hit my head on the trunk lid wiggling from out of the plastic grocery bag. If I hadn't already worried my fingernails to pathetic little nubs, they had tied me up with the scratchiest and skinniest kind of twine that stung my wrists. Naturally, the smell of my own blood in such a small, mildewed space made me sick, all down the front of my slicker.

If I were still in Phoenix, where the hot air forced me to tie up my long hair always, my kidnapping experience would have been a lot less gross.

Don't get me wrong. I did cry over being forever lost to my family and the precious few I considered my friends. However, I could not avoid the anger I felt at the irony of moving out of Phoenix, America's so-called kidnapping capital, only to be snatched up in Forks, the textbook example of small town living. For Christ's sake, I'm the chief's daughter in Forks! Belonging to a cop in the city usually deterred creeps who cat-called me. It was always enough for me to say "My dad's a cop" and I'd always make it to my mom's car without pulling the trigger on my pepper spray.

Maybe if I'd had the pepper spray on me and I hadn't gotten out of the habit of holding my keys between my knuckles, I would be home by now, shook up from almost being kidnapped and still losing sleep- but losing sleep in my own bed.

What was I doing out at night in Buttfuck, Washington, you might ask? If I were any other 17-year old, my answer would be getting drunk or getting laid. I'm not like that, though, for reasons I don't need to get into and even if I were-uh, hello-chief's daughter. I couldn't fart anywhere without it becoming public knowledge. The lack of anonymity wouuld isolate anyone.

I'm babbling. Okay, I'll be straight. I was driving around Forks after cooking up a perfect dinner and an okay birthday cake, and I was getting desperate because the grocer's clock out at nine o'clock on weekdays, and I had discovered at a quarter 'til that I had forgotten that last finishing touch- the candles. I should have accepted it, and stayed home waiting for my father instead of driving further and further from home, chasing the lit "Open!" signs as they winked out one by one.

Couldn't help it. Like my father, I was a stickler for details. Except that when my father pays attention to details, it's a matter of justice.

I am pulled out of my fuzzy thoughts when my kidnappers brake abruptly, causing me to bash my nose and bite my cheek. I taste blood once again, but this time there's nothing to regurgitate.

I lie still when my kidnappers pop the trunk; one of them gags. "Aw man, I hate when they do that!"

"While Bile does leave a distinct olfactory signature, it is hardly as offensive as other bodily humors."

"Don't remind me. The last one shit himself so much his pants came off."

"You ignored his demands for insulin."

"I didn't think he'd die!"

"Humans. So fragile." A thick, cold finger stroked my cheek. It smelled funny; not bad, just oddly sweet. "One misinformed decision, and profit gains are offset by the tedious work of disposal and concealment."

"This one'll make up for it, swear it. When we hose her down."

"I hardly think it necessary. She can bathe herself. My dear, you might be a Beauty but you certainly are not sleeping, especially with my cohort navigating the vehicle."

"The jig is up, bitch. You can pull yourself up and walk it off, or I throw you into a tub and scrub you down, really hard in your special places."

Reluctantly, I open my eyes. We are in a parking lot at a seedy motel. Despite my intense fears about being tortured to death, I'm a little disapointed. Even late at night, it's clear that the lot has cracks so wide that bushes are growing out of them. Half the letters advertising the motel name are dimmed out for good. Also, if there is anyone around, it would be someone worse than my captors.

The kidnappers, of course, are men. One of them looked to be straddling 50 and the other one was a much older gentleman wearing a suit. Despite the great differences in their apparent ages, the both of them looked, well, handsome. 50 was a little beaky in the nose, but I would have found it charming if I spotted his face while people watching in a cafe or a mall. The older gentleman completely stumped me. I sensed he was older, much older, than his groomed appearance and black eyes revealed.

Even as I cataloged their physical traits, I had my priorities straight. "Water. Please."

50 waved me off. "Yeah, yeah. Get going, sweet cheeks. We'll give you enough to drown yourself in if you can get off of that flat ass."

I wobble in my attempt. The older gentleman catches me, with a grace that no one who qualifies for Medicare should have. From the firmness of his thick fingers, I dub him Grey Iron.

"I will escort you, Ms. Swan, if you would be kind enough to divest yourself of your soiled coat."

"It reeks of puke," agrees 50.

"How...?"

Grey Iron chuckles. "Oh, forgive me. We've been trailing your scent for almost two days, and have familiarized ourselves with-well, everything about you. So of course we know you are Isabella "Bella" Swan. My associate, who is terminally afflicted with poor manners, answers to..."

The edge of my vision gets fuzzy and once again I feel Grey Iron practically carry me past all the vacant parking spots, and up the outer flight of steps leading to a parade of faded doors. One door is wide open, and I look away, not wanting to know why the space was unguarded.

The next time I open my eyes, I am tucked cozily into a bed. I have a headache, which is immediately explained by my wet hair. In the process of sitting up, I discover that I am completely naked. Even though it's a wasted gesture, I yank the sheets up around my chest, but the corners are turned down so tightly that I don't cover anything above my belly button. I don't even care anymore because I'm so weak that my fingers shake. The glass of water looks delicious, and it dribbles all over my skin as I inhale it.

I curse my clumsiness when I drop it, half-empty (with the mood I was in, the cup was inarguable half-empty) all over my lap. I get out from under the sheets and look around for a towel before it hits me: I've been kidnapped. Making a mess is the last of my problems.

Still, I compulsively put the cup where I found it, on a warped breakfast tray. There is also what looks to be a sub, wrapped in aluminum foil. Even though I don't like so much cheese, I eat every bite of the breakfast sub. I suck my fingers until they stop tasting like bacon.

Hunger staved, and thirst not such an issue, I notice clothes piled on the bed. They all have price stickers and tags with the skinny plastic binders. While I have a thing about washing new clothes before wearing them, I got over myself and put on a long sleeve and sweats. I found my shoes placed at the foot of the bed. I stuck my bare feet in them and went for the door.

The knob turns without resistance.

Heart swelling into my throat, I push the door and it doesn't budge more than a crack wide enough to show me the wood plank my captors must have nailed in place.  
I am startled by the phone ringing. It keeps ringing until I hang my head in defeat, take off my shoes, and pad on over to the night stand to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" I inquire, even though that was not what I meant to say.

"You still buck naked or did you find the clothes?" It was 50.

"The latter," I answer snidely.

"The fuck? What do ladders have anything to do with-" To my amusement, 50 is no longer speaking.

"  
"Fantastic. We will attend to you promptly." Grey Iron sounds happy, and suddenly I'm not amused.

There's the unexpected sound of wood splintering, which I think is strange because there should be a hammer or more banging and pulling. After i hear that small noise, Grey Iron and 50 let themselves in.

50 is the one who talks first, which I'm noticing is a pattern with him.

"Look, we're not going to fuck you or kill you or anything like that. So can you relax and stop smelling like that so I can breathe easy?" 50 points the wood board at me accusingly, as though I make him uncomfortable.

"Excuse me?" Now that I'm not plastered with my own vomit, I know that I'm not a stinky person.

"Young man, you have a lot to learn about conversing with young ladies. If you want to catch your breath, I suggest you wait outside while I orient Ms. Swan to our standard procedures of business."

I almost want to tell 50 to stick around, because Grey Iron is a much scarier adversary, and he's wearing purple latex gloves.

"Business?" I echo weakly. I feel dizzy again, and I hope that I don't have a concussion or another contusion.

"Yes, but before we get to that key topic, there is a more pressing matter to address with you."

I could have said many things, but I left it at "What? What is it?"

"Not to alarm you, my dear, but vampires exist. We are going to sell you to a particularly affluent vampire. There is nothing you can do to impede this business exchange. Lastly, I will need to sample your blood to insure quality."

This is where I threw the tray at him, which he caught before I even pivoted on the ball of my foot to get to the bathroom.

I felt the back of my shirt jerk, and I went down, hard.

"Bother, we'll need to deduct the cost if you're bruised," Grey Iron mumbled as he picked me up, threw me onto the bed and drew a freaking syringe out of the breast pocket of his suit.

I screamed, naturally.

"Be as loud as you like, but keep still! You do not want me mangling a vein."

At "mangle", I'm crying but I lie down and try so very hard not to breathe as he nudges the sharp point into the crease over my forearm.

"Beautiful," Grey Iron sighs. His thumb strokes my inner arm where my skin is very squishy. "With your veins and that coloring, you will go for a pretty penny." He straightened up and went into the bathroom.

I pull my knees up to my chest and let my hair slide over my face. I try not to picture what he's doing with my blood.

My effort is wasted because when he comes out of the bathroom, I look up, and he has a shot glass half-filled with a dark red liquid. Grey Iron swirls it around in the shot glass, and inhales it.

"My dear, I have great news: We aren't selling you after all. Your blood is far too precious of a commodity for one limited allocation." He raised the shot glass, as though toasting me.

"We are going to keep you with us and sell your blood in units to widen our profit margins." Grey Iron knocked back the shot glass and gulped the contents greedily. My blood smeared around his lips made his eyes look red. "There is also the incentive that many Americans label 'fringe benefits', I believe."

And just like that, my life was taken from me, drained directly from my body, in a million little deaths.

* * *

A/N: don't own twilight. meyer can keep her copyright. dunno where else i'm going with this. maybe she gets rescued by her one true love? we'll see.


End file.
